Gin'n'Tonic Time Travels
by Peace Revolution
Summary: Ginny time travels back to her second year, after the Chamber of Secrets. She learns what becomes of Tom and the diary. Tonny. Unless it's Tinny. Later, it's Tedny and finally Hinny. I've checked – it's Gin'n'Tonic!
1. Chapter 1

**Gin'n'Tonic Time Travels**

by Peace Revolution

.

Ginny rose and washed, before throwing on her stifling Quiditch robes. She reached for her broom, and after checking the bristles, dove down the stairs and out of the Fat Lady's portrait.

She raced down the Hogwarts staircases, which were frustrating, having have to wait for them to land each time. At last she made it out to the courtyard, and after weaving around, she leapt onto her broom and rose into the chilly morning air.

The grass was icy beneath her as she flew towards the Quidditch pitch. The air was freezing; it felt like icicles were forming around her hood. She was glad she'd worn trousers and not jeans.

The Quidditch pitch was empty. Ginny unlocked the Chaser balls and began practice in earnest. She thought about using the Snitch, but it was best to keep at Chaser practice. Harry may be busy this year, but he was still their Seeker.

She brushed thoughts of Harry aside; he was dating Cho Chang.

What Ginny wanted to be more than anything was to be his girlfriend, and next she wanted to be Seeker. But that wasn't possible, so she was aiming for the Chaser try-outs. It was easy catching the Quaffle when she'd been doing it half her life at the Burrow.

Like now. She slipped the Quaffle through the hoop and it bounced off the back. She caught it again with, "Wingardium leviosa," and spelled it to float round in a circle, whilst she avoided the sole bludger.

Then for fun, she let fly the snitch. She caught it almost immediately again, its small hummingbird-like wings pressing into her palm.

Just then, Katie Bell approached the Quidditch pitch, robes done up against the cold. "Hey!" she cried. "You're up early. Fancy practising with me?"  
"Sure," replied Ginny, letting go of the snitch. "I'll go get the other bludger."

"No need. I can't believe you're practising with one already."

Katie Bell said, "It's my last year. Fancy trying out for Chaser, Ginny?"

Ginny blushed. "Yes, but if anything happens to Harry, I want to be Seeker. But I love being a Chaser," she gushed. "It's my favourite position at home."

"I'll be Keeper, then," said Katie. She got in front of the hoop and raised one arm. "You try to get past me."

Ginny swerved and ducked but couldn't just make it. The ball went wide, and she panted to retrieve it. She had warmed up nicely in her robes, which was just as well. Snowflakes had drifted down and turned lazily in the air.

Then lightening struck the Whomping Willow. Thunder growled across the sky, and snowflakes started pouring out faster and faster.

"We'll need to take shelter," cried out Katie. She retrieved the Quaffle from where they'd been practising.

"The snitch!" cried out Ginny. She watched it zip amongst the snowflakes. "I'll get it!"

Lightning lashed out across the dark thundery sky. The snitch was almost lost in a snowstorm of flakes, when she made out some golden flick down away to the left. She dived, snow whiskering her hood and eyes, and tried to grab it once, twice… thrice. It lay tantalisingly out of grasp. Ginny breathed in, and got lost.

.

She awoke in the Infirmary, with the curtains tightly closed and a sign on her bed reading, "Ginny Weasley, older. Could be time travelling? See A. Dumbledore for details."

She snuck off the bed to use the chamber pot as quietly as possible. When she had finished, Madam Pomfrey tucked one curtain aside.

"Oh, good, you're awake, Miss Weasley." She said. "I'll get Prof. Dumbledore." She bustled off.

"Yes, I'm fine," she almost called after her. She kicked at the bed instead. What a lousy year she'd turned out into. She wondered which year she'd been sent to. Oh no, it better not had been her first… That meant she was still writing to Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord.

It didn't take long to locate the snitch. It was tangled up in her pocket, still whirring off and on. She calmed it down with a Quidditch spell, and put it back, after feeling its tiny wings.

Then she calmed herself down, after peering out around the curtains and tiptoeing over to the large potion set. She selected a vial of Pepperup potion, and drank it down.

She was rinsing out the vial absent-mindedly, when she heard footsteps. She dove back into the billowing curtains and sat upon the bed.

"Ah, Miss Weasley," said McGonagall. "We see no evidence of time-travel upon your person. Only your robes were wet. Ah, I see you've quelled the snitch. We couldn't switch it off for some time-travel reason, just in case you used up your allotted time unit and were sent back to the future."

Ginny said, "I was practising at the Quidditch pitch during a snowstorm." She shivered at the memory.

McGonagall smiled. "Keen, very keen, Miss Weasley. You'll be a fine member of the team, no doubt."

"What year is it?" asked Ginny, her heart sinking.

"1992, October. We warn you not to venture out into the grounds due to the high Dementor population, that you no doubt remember. Sirius Black is still on the loose!" She leant in. "And no doubt you remember us catching him, but you should not tell us anything, not in the slightest."

"Yes, Professor," she replied, heart lifting despite the Dementor presence. "How do I get back home?"

"To the Burrow?"

"No, to 1996, of course!"

"Whatever caused you to time travel – the storm – is very rare. We'll have to make do at our end. Or await news from the Ministry from your time, who'll come to fetch you. I do so hope it's not too far in the future…

"Meanwhile," she continued before Ginny could get a word in edgeways. "You'll continue with your lessons here in the Infirmary because of course you cannot return to Gryffindor Tower. Ah, I almost forgot! Professor Dumbledore really needs to speak with you over another matter. We thought you may have come to this time especially over a certain diary." She peered at Ginny over her square spectacles. "It's been destroyed of course, we told you that, but—"

"Told me what?" asked Ginny, her mouth hanging open. "You mean Tom's still around."

"Well, the horcrux has gone, and the pages are blank. We presume that he's dead, for want of a better word. You'd better talk to Dumbledore." McGonagall slipped her a small bronze ornament. "Off you go!"

Ginny departed as soon as the portkey activated.


	2. Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore stood at the window, hands clasped. "Miss Weasley, do sit down. Now, we have some matters to talk about."

Ginny caught her breath, and sat down. The door was shut, Fawkes was snoozing, and the room was filled with dozens of instruments all ticking or gurgling away.

"Now," he began, smoothing his beard. The decorations in it rattled and jingled. "Ginny Weasley, can you please begin to tell me _how_ you arrived in this time."

"I was flying for the snitch on the Quidditch pitch in a snowstorm," she said, telling the truth. "Lightning struck round about the time I went back."

"No devices, or any such?" asked Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eye.

"No, sir. Just lightning."

He sat back and played with his beard. "Dear me, that is rare, that is. Most of the time travellers I find carry a time-turner."

"I think Hermione had one once," said Ginny. "She mentioned it for catching up on lessons."

"Dear me, she does. And this very year we decided to grant her one for dedications of studying. You're not borrowing it at all, not in the slightest?"

"No, sir. It was just the storm. _Please_ believe me."

"Very well." He folded his hands. "We have a mighty job on our hands getting you back. I shall summon the Ministry—" he didn't look pleased "—at getting you home, Miss Weasley."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir."

"Hm. I shall write a few words," here, his hand slipped amongst the papers on his desk and he overturned a page to reveal a black diary.

Ginny couldn't help but gasp.

"My, what do we have, here?" wondered Dumbledore out loud. "A diary, no doubt!"

Ginny scrunched her feet under the chair and gripped its edge with both hands.

"I do so wonder whose it is! Why it looks like it belongs to one Tom Riddle!"

He managed to open it despite its huge gash in the cover. Ink had ran from the basilisk's fang and scorned the entire first page.

"Do you know who it belongs to?" continued Dumbledore. "It's—"

"—Tom Riddle, yes, you said, Professor," mumbled Ginny.

Dumbledore held a hand theatrically to his ear. "What's that? I can't hear! I do believe it's Tom Riddle's diary, Miss Weasley. I wonder if you know that."

"Yes, I do," she said between gritted teeth. She took a lot after her mum in moments like this. Her hands balled, and she wished she was holding the snitch again.

"I wonder," said Dumbledore, "if he's still in it. We all thought we'd killed him, but who knows. The old boy may have left a backup in here somewhere." He shook the diary from the spine. Dust floated out.

"Actually," he said, "if I write in it pretending to be you, Ginny Weasley, he _sometimes_ writes back. How, when he's actually dead from basilisk poison, is another matter. It seems like the spells continue, but the soul does not. Watch and observe."

Dumbledore drew a quill, and wrote some joined up handwriting in it. "Hello, Tom," he read. "I have a friend to see you."

 _No_ , Tom wrote back. _Don't let anyone see me. You're mine, Ginny, and I'm yours_.

"He's very romantic," said Dumbledore, sounded flustered. "I don't think you knew that at eleven. He's very persuasive. No wonder he was so popular at school. I think I quite miss him sometimes, that young. He was very handsome, you know."

Ginny wondered about Dumbledore sometimes. He was very alone up here in the office, and he had turned down becoming Minister of Magic for some such reason.

 _Come here, Ginny. Leave your friend alone. We'll talk tonight._

"Do more than that," added Dumbledore. "He writes kisses, you know. No hugs for some strange reason, just kisses."

Ginny felt herself start to flush. She _had_ missed him. Sometimes he was still her best friend in daydream, and she missed his counselling advice on what to do. He'd been a very good bully, the very best, the sort you don't notice one bit. She'd even gone up a grade with all his hard work. She was a very good speller and good at charms.

Especially hexes. What with six older brothers and Harry Potter, she'd become fantastic.

"What's that, Tom?" asked Dumbledore suddenly. "Kissy kissy time. Very well." He wrote in nine X's, along with _Thank you, Tom, I'll see you later_.

"There," he said. He twinkled. "Anything else, Miss Weasley? Anything at all?"

"Does he show memories?" she blurted out.

Dumbledore became quite serious. "Not at all. The horcr— the horrible soul bit has long gone, and so have all the memories. And the mind control, and everything else horrible. It's just a perfect diary." He sighed. "Everything a man could wish for."

Ginny felt it had gone too far. She said so. "Professor, I wish to see the diary, please." She held out her hand.

"Of course, my dear. But, ah-ah-ah, you'll have to use my quill, my ink, and my handwriting. It'll be better to come round to this side of the desk, if you may."

Ginny got up and walked round. The desk sported many drawers on this side, and ample leg room. She timidly wrote a bit. _Hello, Tom. Do you have any quick advice on charms?_

 _This is your friend, isn't it?_ said Tom suspiciously.

 _No, it's me, s_ he wrote. _It's Ginny._

 _Ginny,_ he wrote back, _I'll see._

"My handwriting," added Dumbledore. "I do believe you've spoilt it. My ploy, that is."

A small hole yawned on the page, and the diary felt sucky.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore, getting up sharply. "I've never had such problems. Only how many X's to write if he was a naughty boy."

The page opened up and a very sucky portal began. Ginny stood there, her hair whipping around her face, and her robes being dragged in a triangle towards the desk. Dumbledore's beard flew out from his face.

"Together," said Dumbledore. "Miss Weasley." He held out his hand and found hers in the encroaching darkness. She held it tight.

"Together," she replied.

.

When they awoke, it was dark. Tom was lighting up somewhere to the side, like he did when she was smaller. Sometimes, he would go out and take her place, and she would sit here and wait.

Dumbledore lit up the end of his wand. " _Lumos_ ," like she had done when younger. It was a small papery room with the Hogwarts emblems drawn across paper screens that were not doors. Dumbledore, however, tried it like a Japanese door, and found it locked and probably not existing as anything else.

There were four walls, four emblems, and lots of snakes over the Slytherin panel. All moved very slightly. They looked hand-drawn.

"Nice, very nice," said Tom, noticing them for the first time. Then something akin to love came over him. "Ginny, my sweet," he said, rushing towards her.

Dumbledore coughed. "Very romantic," he murmured, then laughed.

Ginny blushed. "Tom," she said. She found his hand, and he kissed hers. "Tom!"

"Why is this old man here?" he complained.

"This is—" Dumbledore shook his head "—my grandfather. Leave him alone."

Tom had a sneer on his face, and was twirling his wand in anger. "Very well," he said. "You may stay, but at the first moment, you may go, sir. Unharmed.

"Ginny," he continued. "I know I've treated you badly in the past – please forgive me and tell me you've forgotten it all. I know I have. Love me like I do."

"Oh, Tom, it's been so long. I don't know that I can," said Ginny.

"It's only been since this morning," said Tom, whipping his head from side to side. "Hasn't it?"

"Yes," she said, wishing that Dumbledore had provided her with some more hints than XXX.

Then she remembered something. "I wish we could go out together to wherever the diary is." Dumbledore coughed. "Or not. I always wanted to do that."

"Let's, then! Let's leave. He's got a dreadful cough, you know, my dearest."

She grabbed his hands and swung him around. "Let's stay." She kissed him.

"Oh, Ginny, we've only just met." He sat her in mid-air on nothing. He moistened his lips in earnest. "Won't your granddad mind?"

"I'm not watching!" he called. "I'm admiring, hmmm, Ravenclaw. Is this your own work?"

"Yes," he called. "I'm in Slytherin, you're in Gryffindor, Ginny, and you were, sir, in...?"

"Another Gryffindor, I'm afraid. All the Weasleys seem to be."

"Perhaps," said Tom and winked at Ginny. "We'll have more Gryffindors together, eh?"

"Oh, let's," she said, caught up in the moment. "Eh, what? Oh!"

Tom strode away with his hands behind his back. "Now you're just taking the mickey."

"No, Tom, I'm not," she said hurriedly. "It's – it's just been a while, or not." She caught sight of Dumbledore's eye.

"Hm," said Tom. "Hmmm. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're avoiding me."

"What, here?" she said. "I'm not avoiding you at all."

"That's mighty fine of you. I'm talking about granddad."

"I thought I'd give you some privacy, that's all," said Dumbledore grandly. "A young couple like you need all the advice you can get."

"Ginny," said Tom. "You're needing help with charms again, I read. But you're looking, how shall I say this, much older? And kissing prettily too, if I may add."

"She's time travelling," said Dumbledore. "And she doesn't remember what she last wrote either."

"Oh," he said, pronouncing the 'O'. "No wonder your handwriting has changed. What's wrong, darling? Did you lose my diary in the future and came back to find me?"

"No," said Ginny, drawing apart. "I'm here by accident." She wondered why Dumbledore had told him.

"Nothing's by accident," said Tom in a voice that suggested he lived by Fate. "Come, tell me about it."

"I was playing Quidditch," she said.

"Quidditch," he repeated. She remembered he didn't have fond memories of broom-flying, preferring instead to try to jet his body into the air. He kept failing spectacularly too. He wanted to be a bird Animagus, but it was quite embarrassing what he initially tested out as. Not a snake, either, which would have been awesome for Slytherin. He had left hints as being red and hairy. Being a Weasley, she had both in abundance, and had fallen in love with him at some point for being red.

She suspected that he was a fox; he was cunning like one. Or a squirrel. Or an orang-utan, which would have been embarrassing.

"When this snowstorm whipped up and drove the snitch from my hand—"

"You're Seeker," he interrupted. "Yes! Pretty and popular."

"No, I'll probably be Chaser," she said. But she had a good feeling about Seeker. She wanted to be Harry Potter's substitute.

"Eh, you're not anything yet." He sounded disappointed.

"But I'm trying," she said. "I practise every morning. I'm sure to make the team. Next year, everyone's leaving and lots of positions are opening up."

"I can't help you on Quidditch," he said. "What did you want to know about charms?"

"Bother charms," she said.

"Not even how—" he lowered his voice "—to make a horcrux?"

There was that word again, that horrible bit, thought Ginny.

"Isn't it horrible?"

"The method. Yes, yech," said Tom. "Hm, I hadn't thought of that. I was thinking about how I – the diary – gets lost, and I'll be all on my own. If I had a piece of you with me, now _older_ , we could be together somehow until you find me again. Tell me, I wasn't taken away, was I?"

"Sort of." Ginny wished she could lie better.

"Sort of – a piece of me with a piece of you?" Then he said something horrible. "How much do you love your granddad?"

"A lot," she said, promptly.

"Ah, pity. He would've done."

Dumbledore beamed when he caught sight of them looking his way. "Shall we leave? I've thoroughly investigated the Slytherin door, and I believe we can exit this way."

Tom hurried over. "Not without me, you can't." He coughed and spluttered and somewhere in there was a hiss. The door opened outwards and showed the Headmaster's study.

"Dippot," said Tom. "No, wrong year. It's Dumbledore." He looked hard at granddad. "You're Dumbledore. Ginny, you lied to me!"

He pushed both of them out, then grabbed Ginny by the wrist and dragged her back in. The door slammed shut.

.


End file.
